


Turbulence

by Mandibles



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Gen, Knives, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:18:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3401462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/pseuds/Mandibles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme fill. </p><p>Once, Varric considered this to be a good plan. It isn’t until the Inquisitor cuts off mid-sentence and the war room falls into stunned silence that Varric realizes he Fucked Up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turbulence

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be part of Varric witnessing this strange, terrible courtship between two terrible, violent men, but pbbbbbtt. Maybe at some point. Also, written on my phone at an ungodly hour.

Once, Varric watched the Inquisitor stare a Venatori dead in the eye as he cleaved them in two, through the collarbone and down, another Venatori's head under his boot.  
  
Once, Varric dragged Hawke, knuckles bloody, off a long-dead bandit who looked at him the wrong way, his staff still slung over his back, forgotten.  
  
Once, Varric considered this to be a good plan. It isn’t until the Inquisitor cuts off mid-sentence and the war room falls into stunned silence that Varric realizes he Fucked Up.  
  
Hawke just stabbed the Inquisitor’s hand to the table. The glowy one.  
  
The apple Hawke had been carving into fills the silence as it rolls its way toward Orlais. Varric looks, wild-eyed, to the other occupants of the room, their weapons drawn and faces twisted in a terror to rival his, and there's a collective cold panic as they stare at the Inquisitor's pinned hand. Red seeps across Crestwood and the Inquisitor's hand crackles green round the edges.   
  
Not that the two heroes of Thedas notice; they have eyes only for each other, in the most antagonistic of senses. Hawke's fingers are still curled around the knife's hilt, in fact, and the manic snarl twitching under mustaches tells Varric he's a breath away from ripping it out and flicking it towards the Herald's heart. Mage or not, Varric learned a long time ago that Hawke is about as lethal with a blade as he is with fire. At least Varric knows Hawke enough; at least he can somewhat predict his actions.  
  
The Inquisitor, on the other hand, is an enigma. He frowns back at Hawke, looks down his regal, brown nose at him with razor-sharp dark eyes, disturbingly nonplussed by his bleeding hand. Though to be fair, from what Varric's seen his emotions range from apathetic to mildly irritated in the most desperate of times. Maybe it's because he's older, maybe it's how Trevelyans raise their heirs, but there's a coldness to him that Varric has little hope to crack the surface of.   
  
And, mind you, Varric once thought it was a good idea to bring these madmen together.   
  
Once the moment passes and a rift doesn't tear open to swallow them all, the other occupants of the room move into action.  
  
"Inquisitor!" the Seeker shouts, blades drawn along with Curly and Nightingale, and they press forward towards Hawke together.  
  
They go still, though, when the Inquisitor wraps his fingers over Hawke's white-knuckled grip and, of all things, sighs.  
  
"Really?" is all he says, eyes narrowed in exasperation. Even as he stares Hawke down, it's more like he's spoken to the empty air between them. Ruffles clutches her blouse when he yanks the knife free in an arc of blood and a wet sound. Personally, Varric is more concerned by the fact that Hawke _let_ him.   
  
The Inquisitor releases Hawke and the knife and casually unbuttons his shirt to wrap it around his hand, unperturbed by the eyes on him. Once he's done, he sets his attention back to Hawke. "Now that you've gotten that out of your system, can we continue?"  
  
Hawke stares back, the knife he holds dripping blood across the Free Marches. His initial anger had disappeared when the Inquisitor first reached for the knife, replaced then by confusion that boiled into red-faced fury, chaotic and molten like lava.  
  
His hand tightens on the knife.  
  
"Andraste's tits, Hawke!" Varric hisses, moving to restrain him.

Wood splits and there’s a collective flinch, and a jump from Varric especially. He looks down at his hands and is mostly surprised to find he still has all his fingers.  
  
"Alright, then," Hawke says to the Inquisitor, smoke billowing from his nostrils as his rage dies down to a simmer.   
  
Varric looks between Hawke and the knife piercing Kirkwall, dumbfounded.  
  
The Advisors exchange looks themselves, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a perfect gradient of disturbed to wary, before Ruffles quietly excuses herself to find a healer. When Varric meets the Seeker's eye, he finds nothing but storms and lightning, like he'd stabbed the Inquisitor himself.  
  
The crunch of an apple breaks through the air. "So you were saying something about forward scouts?" Hawke prompts the Inquisitor between chews, who nods and sets the marker on Crestwood upright.  
  
Varric presses the heel of his hand to his eye and, very quietly, curses.


End file.
